The Last Game
by toledor
Summary: To Kuroko, basketball is an art. To Akashi, it is an escape. In the hallways of Teiko they find each other and never let go.
1. noticed

i. noticed

 **disclaimer: i don't own knb**

* * *

 _"He was everything but mostly nothing, and he trod on through life with a weightless foot. He was like water, water who was shapeless and formless and anything and everything. He was Kuroko Tetsuya and he wasn't."_

* * *

No one knew Kuroko Tetsuya. Throughout his whole life he'd passed through all his classes at school as if he were a ghost, as if he wasn't exactly human but instead some otherworldly figure that no one bothered to notice. It should have been easy to pick out the bright blue hair among the sea of black, but apparently, Kuroko Tetsuya was the type to defy all laws of nature. _Freak,_ his mind supplied.

He supposed it bothered him in the very beginning, when he was a toddler who was standing right in front of his mother. She couldn't even see him. At the time he thought it was funny, but something about it was a bit unnerving. Of course, a three-year-old couldn't understand the gravity of the situation, so he giggled to let his mother know that he was right there. She'd screamed. He'd laughed.

There was probably something very wrong with him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Years of going unnoticed by others had hardened him, had made him detached and apathetic to the point where he couldn't actively care for anything at all. If no one made the effort to take notice of him he wouldn't reciprocate. If no one bothered to remember his name then he wouldn't either. He accepted the fact that no one knew Kuroko Tetsuya and no one ever would.

Kindergarten, first grade, second, it all didn't matter, not in the long run. He entertained the foolish thought that the slowest runners would eventually outrun the fastest runners in long distance. He sang and danced without purpose and learned to write in different styles of handwriting just for the fun of it. Ku-ro-ko, he printed neatly, and then promptly scribbled Tet-su-ya in an undignified scrawl he had copied from the boy that sat next to him in class. He was everything but mostly nothing, and he trod on through life with a weightless foot. He was like water, water who was shapeless and formless and anything and everything. He was Kuroko Tetsuya and he wasn't.

Until he discovered basketball.

He'd been ten-years-old and skinny and short. He was everything a basketball player was not, and yet, when he'd watched a local basketball competition on the TV at school he couldn't help but wish he was out there playing too. He'd watched the winning team cheer and jump up—and it suddenly struck Kuroko Tetsuya that he was inexplicably, truthfully, lonely. He'd hurried home shortly after, but not before stopping by a local sports equipment store and purchasing the cheapest ball there was. It still cost him several hundred yen.

That afternoon he tried hard to mimic the moves he'd seen that day. The dribble, the fake to the left, then right, then jump. He was disappointed that he could barely dribble without the ball bouncing off his feet, that he lost the grip on the ball during the fake, and that his jumps weren't high enough. But he wasn't discouraged. He decided to put away the basketball for now and try again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.

He worked hard. He was of the optimistic belief that if one tried hard enough, ran fast enough, jumped high enough, one could achieve anything. He was no longer a boy without goals—he had dreams, and he worked towards them diligently. It didn't matter that he missed all the shots he tried to make or that he could barely dribble past ten feet without falling. He still remained hopeful that maybe tomorrow would show improvement. And maybe, just maybe, one day he'd have a team to call his own. Kuroko Tetsuya the basketball player sounded like a nice name.

When asked in the future about his early efforts he would remark that time had really passed them much too quickly and abruptly change the subject. When pressed he would say that he didn't remember. The truth is that he _did_ remember, quite clearly, in fact. Kuroko was just of the belief that private topics should stay private and that his naive and endearing idealism as a child hit too close to the heart.

* * *

And then he met Ogiwara.

Was it autumn? Looking back it seemed as if they'd always known each other. Ogiwara had moved from some faraway district, maybe even from up north from Hokkaido. Either way he'd ended up sitting diagonally in front of Kuroko in fifth grade.

Ogiwara was the kid who always laughed and smiled and joked around with everybody, and Kuroko was a little jealous. But not really. Kuroko didn't get jealous, ever.

 _(Kuroko knew he was quite blatantly lying to himself, but frankly, he didn't care. No, he was not jealous of Ogiwara. How could he be? Kuroko had an apartment, half of a family, and a hobby—he was satisfied.)_

And one day. _(Kuroko would always pause when telling this story in the future.)_ One day at lunch Ogiwara walked up to him and asked him if he liked basketball. And Kuroko said he did. And he smiled, and Ku-ro-ko Tet-su-ya became more than water, more than the ugly scrawl of that boy who sat next to him two years ago. He was Kuroko, that boy who liked basketball. That boy who hung out with the new kid.

 _That boy who was noticed._

Two years later and elementary school was behind them. Even though Ogiwara and Kuroko were going to different middle schools, Kuroko still felt overwhelmingly optimistic. Of what?

He would later say he couldn't remember that either.

* * *

 **when you ditch all your other fics after rewatching knb for the 1908240723th time and get inspired by how the ball emits light because it moves too fast and how when a player gets especially fired up electricity is produced through the eyes. #shameless**

 **but really let's admit it knb is cool because everyone is cute and happy and hot and we're basic af and because kuroko is a meme.**

 **idk what this fic is gonna be or if there's gonna be any ships, like im 64% sure this is going to be a char study but. but i have no self control.**

 **ok so expect v inconsistent updates cos i gotta figure out wut im doin with this and like. my life. oh yes.**

 **rEVIEWS give me lIFE. pls. thanks for reading.**


	2. forgotten

ii. forgotten

* * *

 _"I am Midorima Shintaro," he said, sniffing as he tipped his head into a low bow. "I hope for both of our sakes we do not see each other around."_

* * *

Kuroko opened his eyes on the morning of his first day of middle school to the sound of glass shattering.

He flinched. Noise bled through the paper-thin walls easily, and he was certain the neighbors could clearly hear what was going on. _(Not as if they would ever interfere.)_ He cast away that bitter thought and instead focused on building his composure, bracing himself for the war outside his bedroom door.

Deep breaths. In, out. _Out._ Don't freeze, keep moving keep moving _keep moving_ _you are nothing don't let anyone notice—_

 _—don't stop. Look down, porcelain shards scattered across the floor, a distant shriek. Look around, where are your shoes? Over there, and a piece of glass stuck on the bottom of his right foot, take it out later. Hurry hurry hurry have everything, backpack? Forgot your schedule? Don't go back just go and remember—_

The door swung shut behind him and Kuroko was free.

* * *

"Ah, excuse me," Kuroko said with a little bow as he squeezed in to stand in the space next to him.

"It's nothing."

Dark eyes followed him with a peculiar interest. It was only mild, however, and with a sigh he turned away and promptly forgot about it, facing towards the director. Orientation was about to start

The director of Teiko was a man easily moved by words of passion and promises of success, and as such moved his audience of incoming first years with them. He hid behind a mask of honest geniality contradicted by his underlying threat to not just do _fine_ , no, to be _superior_ , and Kuroko did not like him at all.

"At Teiko," the director gestured in a grandiose manner at the banner behind him, "we have a history of not only excellence, but superiority. Generations and generations of students have come and gone, but all of them—yes, all of them—have achieved some form of greatness and I have _no doubt_ you will as well. Our academics department is nationally recognized; our athletics clubs have all held national titles. I encourage all of you to strive for our long-standing traditions…"

Maybe it was just because Kuroko was average and unnoticeable and jealous, but he disliked the idea of being outstanding for the sake of being outstanding, didn't like the cruel rush one feels from being better than someone. Kuroko'd always been taught that the journey was better than the final destination—that the opportunities lay in involvement and not isolation. He inclined his head, deep in thought. Maybe, he mused, maybe the slowest runners were slow because they were enjoying the view, were pacing themselves—maybe the fast runners tired in the middle and couldn't finish. He dared to think that the tortoise outran the hare.

The director stopped, paused, glared. "Yes?" It was a timid boy towards the back. His hand was shaking as he set it down. "I, I-I-I-I…"

The boy lowered his head. His whole body shook with effort. The boy had a stutter, Kuroko realized. "I-I'm n-not sure, not s-sure that I…c-can meet that s-standard."

The director smiled but his eyes grew colder. For a fraction of a second—it was almost unnoticeable—the corners of his mouth shook from effort, but he inclined his head to the side ( _away from the boy,_ Kuroko noticed) and replied, "I have…faith, faith in your success. Faith in your abilities."

People were nodding along, smiling, whispering to themselves— _if he believes it, then so will we._ A newfound sense of determination sparked and ignited in their hearts.

Teiko wasn't inherently terrible, Kuroko realized. At least, not outwardly. He could understand their methods—expressing their confidence in students' abilities generally boosted student morale, thereby boosting their personal confidence which improved their skills. Lowered self-esteem tended to limit rates of success. Of course the director would try to almost intimidate them with far-reaching expectations and then tell the students he had confidence that they would succeed.

However, something wasn't quite right. The director glanced at a section of the crowd which didn't react the way he expected them to—they were biting their nails and murmuring worriedly to each other. Kuroko squinted and— _Aha!_ —there it was, that asymmetrical mouth, curled on one side and flat on the other. A sneer, an expression of disgust.

And then everything added up. Teiko's ranking as number one in the nation and its high suicide rate. The overwhelming lack of any tutors or teacher's assistants. The highly, almost _too_ selective scholarship program Kuroko was on.

Why should a school waste resources on people who had failed before?

For the second time that day, Kuroko was scared.

* * *

Kuroko was lost.

There were so many people, and the school was so big, and he forgot his schedule at _home_ , and no one noticed him when he walked up to ask them to direct him to the administration office, and he was completely, utterly lost.

"Ah, excuse me," he muttered, accidentally bumping into someone as he walked past the door to class 1A. _Again._ He hurried on past, certain that the guy hadn't even noticed, when Kuroko suddenly heard—

"Not making eye contact with the person you're apologizing to? How rude."

Kuroko looked up. Green hair, long eyelashes, and fair skin. Rectangular glasses sat on the perch of his nose, which was upturned in an expression so familiar to Kuroko he had made his own name for it—aristocratic disgust. It was apparent every night at the dinner table, and was impossible to misidentify.

What was most bizarre, though, was the pink Hello Kitty choker the boy was wearing around his neck.

Kuroko dismissed his incoming thoughts. He had no right to judge another's preferences and habits. "My apologies," he said, bowing low, before straightening and looking him in the eye. "I did not mean to hit you." He swallowed the words that threatened to come crawling out of his throat— _it couldn't have been helped; you couldn't see me._

"Very well," the stranger acquiesced, and made to turn away.

"I'm sorry," Kuroko said again. He wrung his hands. "I'm afraid I'm lost. Could you direct me to the administration office?"

Kuroko chose not to hear the boy's scoff. "You're a first year like me, correct? Didn't you receive your schedule in the mail?"

He had. He'd slipped out of the room to sift through the growing pile of bills on the dining table in the middle of the night until he found it. Kuroko was on scholarship; he couldn't afford falling behind on something as simple as class placements. But the end result had been the same. "I left it at home," he confessed. He should've memorized the rooms. Why hadn't he?

The boy sighed in great annoyance. "The administration office is that way," he said, pointing to their left. "Go straight down, there should be a sign. What's your sign?"

Kuroko blinked. "I'm sorry?"

The boy tugged irritably at his glasses. "I'm not asking again. What's your zodiac sign?"

"Aquarius."

The boy frowned. "Cancer and Aquarius? Incompatible. We won't get along," he said decisively. He turned his back to Kuroko.

Kuroko felt vague tendrils of annoyance stirring in his chest. "It seems illogical to judge another's character by the date they are born on," he remarked.

Green eyes chilled behind those black-rimmed glasses. Kuroko wondered why they hadn't fogged up yet from all the cold. "You are only proving me right. Oha Asa is never wrong."

"I think we will not like each other more because you believe in things outside of your control," Kuroko said coolly. "I will only reciprocate—ah, sorry for my manners, what is your name? I am Kuroko Tetsuya."

Another scoff. "I am Midorima Shintaro," he said, sniffing as he tipped his head into a low bow. "I hope for both of our sakes we do not see each other around."

* * *

 **lol it's been 9-10 months me in a nutshell a lot has happened haha**

 **for a while i genuinely decided to discontinue this bc i had no idea where i was going. but september of last year i began writing original fiction, and i started taking writing more seriously! i've definitely learned a lot about plot and character development and prose and writing in general, and although i do admit i half-assed the vast majority of this 2nd chapter, i've (tentatively) decided to continue this. conveniently, i had half of this chapter written 5 months ago sitting aimlessly on my computer, so it wasn't that hard to get off my ass and write cringy anime fanfiction lmao**

 **it's nice to be back i turned to this on a whim bc i keep putting pressure on myself to make every sentence in my orig fic perfect and it gets frustrating and exhausting sometimes. there's no pressure here. ok i'll stop rambling hope you enjoyed this chap**

 **pls leave a review you'll get good karma or if you don't want good karma do it for kuroko**


	3. direction

iii. direction

* * *

 _Akashi Seijūrō's voice held the slightest tinge of rasp to it. High cheekbones, sharp nose, even sharper eyes, impassive mouth—he was the definition of intimidating charisma. Unapproachable, yet respected. Why was the up-and-coming point guard, vice-captain from first string, of all places, talking to him?_

* * *

"I don't care if your body gives out, if all your bones snap, if blood is dripping out of open wounds and staining this goddamn court," were the first words out of the head coach's mouth. "Get through these drills."

Kuroko was careful to keep tight composure all day, but it was during basketball tryouts when he began to break apart bit by bit. It crept up so slowly onto him he didn't notice until his clothes were soaked in sweat and he was drowning. He was aware of Teiko's formidable talent from the very beginning. It wasn't _lack_ of foresight. Even decades of foresight could not prepare him for Teiko's basketball team.

He was behind. Impossibly so. With Ogiwara, it was different; it was more friendly rivalry than anything else. The words "I'll get you next time!" still echoed through the local park from all the times they'd said it. But this?

"Slow as all hell," he heard some upperclassman murmur during the water break. "Someone's always hanging in the back, but I never bother to look. Probably a freshman. Sometimes I wonder why they even try."

"You sure it's not a ghost?"

"Well, I sure hope he disappears like one soon."

Granted, his classmates were kinder. More likely than not it was because they felt out of their depth in a new school. He hoped the constant tension in the air wouldn't get to them. Kuroko rather liked the blue-haired one that smiled while mercilessly raining down steals and fakes on _last year's first stringers_ , no less.

"You upstarts," the captain— _Nijimura?_ —could be seen snarling furiously (yet still retaining a low, collected volume, just, _how)_ at a select few freshmen, who had the gall to mock the captain's ball handling. "Get to work."

Tryouts were unusually stressful, and Kuroko did break apart just a little, but he swore to himself he would not quit.

A week later? Results were announced. Third string. He'd never play in a real match.

Did the coaches ever see him play?

Historically, Teiko had moved players down strings, but they had never moved players up. He wasn't worried. The biggest gym was reserved for first string, and second and third string shared the second biggest gym, but as far as Kuroko knew no one used the third one.

* * *

Improvement came on the backs of tortoises, Tokyo's suffocating summer hot on its heels. Spring, it seemed, held no mercy nor the balls to fight off her brother. It was mid-May and the old third gym lacked up-to-date insulation, never mind the luxury that was air-conditioning.

Still Kuroko persisted. Running was hell on his lungs but he'd made sure to keep his inhaler nearby. He ran through the drills he had spied Nijimura supervising. Being behind just meant there was no way to look but up.

He tilted his head to the side. He could've sworn he heard a sound—

"—what the fuck what the fuck what the _fuck_ there's someone inside the upperclassmen said there was a ghost but I never thought there actually was one oh what do I do what do I do…"

Kuroko dropped the ball, and the only sound that rang through the gym was the _smack smack smack_ of rubber against wood until it too dribbled to a stop.

"But then again," the voice continued, outside, oblivious to the sudden silence that permeated the surrounding area, "in _Spirited Away_ ghosts are friendly and I guess Studio Ghibli is a credible source so. So, so, so." Kuroko heard a hacking cough, then a rustle. "Okay."

"Hello?" Kuroko called out.

"Shit, okay, Aomine Daiki you're a grown-ass middle schooler, get it together." A tuff of dark blue hair peaked around the door. "Yeah? Friendly ghost? Where are—"

"I'm right here."

Aomine screamed like a little girl. There was momentary, gleeful satisfaction in the fact that his lack of presence, on occasions, provided adequate comedic relief. Which manifested in the form of a gangly roughly six foot tall teenage boy whose sudden frightened paleness did not flatter his tan complexion at all. Who was the ghost now?

Ha.

"You, you!" Aomine's finger shook, gesturing towards Kuroko's nose. "What!"

"Aomine-kun, I assure you, I am not a ghost. I apologize for sneaking up on you; it was not my intention to frighten you." At the visibly overwhelmed expression on Aomine's face, Kuroko softened. "I liked the fake you did against Nijimura-san in tryouts the other day. You noticed that he tended to keep slow, stable footwork and used that to your advantage. It was clever."

A dark blush overwrote the pallid look on his face. "I, uh…what," Aomine mumbled, scratching at his blue hair and avoiding eye contact. "Thanks. I mean. Thank you."

"It's no problem." Kuroko paused, fiddling with the sweat band on his wrist. Might as well reap the benefits of what little opportunity came upon him. "Aomine-kun, I know it's a lot to ask of you," he began. "But I'm currently a third-stringer and I plan on playing in games. Would you be willing to show a few moves so that I may learn from you?"

Aomine's cheeks darkened further to a shade of deep purple Kuroko found he rather liked. "Of course, 'course! Though I, ah…I don't know…how to teach. Much. And you have to be really good in second string to play in games."

Kuroko, however, was steadfast. "That is alright, Aomine-kun. I am certain you will be of great help. I hope this does not bother you too much. Please take care of me," he said blandly.

He was shameless and he knew it.

"Y'know, you. You aren't what they say you are. Are you?" Aomine was frowning, and his subdued tone drew out something in Kuroko's chest, something he had almost forgotten about in the face of a new school and a new absence and a peculiar hole in his chest that was purely indulgent. Or so he said.

"To be more vague than that is to be purposefully obtuse, Aomine-kun. Do try to clarify your pronouns before applying them so liberally; it isn't like sunscreen, although…"

A blink, another one, three, four, five. Kuroko kept count. The crease between Aomine's brows deepened even further, if that was even possible, before dawning realization smoothed it out. "Oh, _oh,_ you sassy son of a—"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Aomine-kun."

Then Aomine threw back his head and laughed uproariously at the cold lights attached to the gym ceiling, and that sparked a bond that would eventually go down in basketball _history._

It was the beginning of a legend, Kuroko reflects years later. Yes, that was where it had begun.

* * *

It was a warm afternoon a week later when Aomine's first string friends finally caught on.

Too warm. That morning Kuroko had woken up sweaty and smelly. He had a permanent cowlick. His father had been too scared to come home that night, too, so he went to school early.

Truthfully, Kuroko was unsurprised. To put it bluntly, Aomine was a valuable key player, on first string and only a first year no less, and although it hadn't affected his own practice time yet, it did raise a few concerns when people heard he was hanging around in the abandoned third gym.

He didn't know what to think when no one figured that Aomine must've been with _somebody._ Nothing, probably.

"Aomine."

"Akashi."

Kuroko could see that giant, the first year center, Murasaki-something-or-the-other first. His gait was halting, and he tread his feet on the floor at every step, uncaring that he was wearing holes into the soles of his feet. His eyelids sat heavy and he looked as tired as Kuroko felt. Ah. And there was Midorima. A few weeks into the year and he had pretty much forgotten their bad start. He didn't know he was in first string.

But what really caught Kuroko's eye was all the red.

"I hadn't seen you lately after practice. You were here?" Akashi asked. _All this time, you were in a place like this? With him?_ was what Kuroko understood. He blinked and shook his head.

Not everything red in his life would be cruel. Kuroko didn't know when he had turned so prejudiced. Or so insecure.

It didn't matter.

"Well…" Aomine scratched the back of his head. "The other gym's pretty crowded, so after my practice we usually practice here."

A thin— _red_ eyebrow raised in faint curiosity. "We?" Red eyes (not violent red, more _dim_ ) scanned the gym for the second part of the "we" Aomine was referring to. Caught on Kuroko's figure.

And stayed there.

"Woah, was there someone like this in the club? Can't remember." Murasaki-something tilted his head to the side lazily. Lethargically. The disinterest struck a jarring chord in Kuroko, an itch that turned into a pinch that cut a little too hard.

Thin, pink, _not-red_ lips curled into a sly, sweet smile. "I'm slightly interested." Pause. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yes?" Kuroko wished that hadn't been phrased like a question. He glanced once at Aomine, then followed Akashi to the corner of the gym.

"Would it be alright if I visit you tomorrow afternoon?"

"For basketball?" Kuroko blurted, and then inwardly slapped himself. He made it sound like he and Akashi would be going on a secret tryst. What else for?

Luckily, Akashi made no inclination that he had noticed Kuroko beating himself up. "Yes. Thank you for talking to me. I'll see you tomorrow, then." He made his way over to the other regulars, calling out. "Aomine, Murasakibara, Midorima, let's go."

The three didn't even hesitate to obey. In agreement, they ambled out of the gym into the streets of Tokyo to do whatever regulars did on evenings. Kuroko was left standing there, still in his school uniform, with a basketball in his hands and his schoolbag across the bleachers.

The lights flickered, then darkness. Only light from the street lamp bothered to shine in through the window.

Aomine hadn't really acknowledged him after the regulars came in. But he wasn't worried about that. Upon deep reflection, illuminated by cheap street lights, Kuroko found that he wasn't bothered by Aomine's camaraderie with them; no, he was bothered by their interactions with Aomine.

That didn't make much sense, so he brushed it aside.

* * *

"Kuroko, was it?"

Akashi Seijūrō's voice held the slightest tinge of rasp to it. High cheekbones, sharp nose, even sharper eyes, impassive mouth—he was the definition of intimidating charisma. Unapproachable, yet respected. Why was the up-and-coming point guard, vice-captain from _first string_ , of all places, talking to him?

Forget talking to him. How had he noticed him?

He inclined his head in a concise bow and slowed his dribbling to a stop. Early afternoon meant that the sun shone through the windows and illuminated the gym in a sight that Kuroko found in equal parts familiar and pretty. Early afternoon also meant first string practice, which also meant Aomine would be meeting up with him later today to help. Shouldn't Akashi be at practice as well?

"Yes, Akashi-san."

Kuroko could see Akashi sizing him up. For what, he didn't know. Maybe he'd pull magical first string powers and kick him off the club entirely. Or maybe he'd pull an Aomine and teach him the magical ways of the first stringers. Lord knows Aomine couldn't teach for— _pardon the bluntness_ —shit, but Kuroko was still touched that he tries.

Aomine is his friend.

"Could you give me the ball?" Akashi didn't even bat an eye to Kuroko's inner conflict—in fact, he even had the gall to _smile._ If Kuroko knew any better he would have been miffed. Instead he was the epitome of confusion.

He knew better than to show it, though. "Of course," he said, staring blankly at the ball in his hands, and then at Akashi's expectant look, and then adding up the facts because _oh right he's talking about this one, the one in my hands, right now,_ and. And he should probably give it over in the next hour, just maybe, to avoid any trouble.

He gave Akashi the ball. And wondered for the thousandth time what exactly Akashi Seijūrō was doing in the abandoned third gym, looking for him.

Show off, Kuroko thought as Akashi spun the ball on his finger. "Kuroko-san, would you mind running through a few drills for me?"

"Ah." Kuroko nodded. "Sure."

Of course, his drills weren't pretty. While he had improved drastically ever since Aomine decided to help him, he still stumbled and tripped and generally made a fool of himself. But he _had_ improved, and that was what he focused on. Maybe if he ran that extra lap…

Akashi hummed and said nothing for the longest time. And then, "This is a first. You're a veteran at the game from what I can see, and yet all this effort produces no results."

The remark stung more than it should've. Yet, it's the truth. That didn't stop him from flinching. "Sorry, Akashi-san, I, I'm. Not really willing to accept that statement." Because his effort _did_ produce results. He was stronger than before.

"I apologize; that's not what I meant." Pause. Then, in a quieter tone, "I find it admirable."

Kuroko knew his pale face made his faint blush look worse. His words were suspiciously stuck in his throat, too. Akashi didn't let up. "Your motor skills are alright. Your dedication and practice are enough to call you a veteran. By all means, the vibe I get from you should be one of experience and knowledge. And yet, still, I feel nothing from you. Practice enough, experience enough, and presence is bound to grow with it. You lack presence. But.

"This is not a weakness; this is an advantage. Capitalize on it and the team will benefit."

It was an interesting theory, Kuroko decided. But he could recognize that Akashi was trying to tell him something more. "Is it possible to turn this into an advantage?" he wondered aloud. Already he had some ideas. Kuroko was missing something; he recognized this.

Smart enough, and anything can work in your favor. Work hard enough, and anything can happen.

The curve of Akashi's lips was a welcome sight. "That's all I can say," he said almost teasingly. Kuroko couldn't really tell with Akashi. "Come to me when you find the answer."

* * *

 **i am a true piece of weeb trash wow**

 **on a different note though it's almost been a year and while that's cool it's also rather sad that this only has 3 chapters and i, the fantabulous author, still have no idea what i'm doing. ha. haha.**

 **self-pity aside i'm also thinking of posting a harry potter fanfic? maybe? i have an idea that Is Not Planned Very Well but there's some nice storytelling in there if you squint very hard**

 **thanks for coming this far! leave a review to fatten up my skinny ego ;) or tear this apart D: or suffer at the hands of idk riko? i've been rewatching knb recently :D**


	4. house

iv. house

* * *

 _In the place of his lungs was a gaping maw that howled in greed. A mess. Where did it go wrong, where did it go wrong._

* * *

In Tokyo the rain peeled against the modern buildings with a steadiness that spoke of an eternity long before and after the city. Here, the air was humid and stuffy and tried to choke them. Here, domesticated trees flailed wildly in a stand against man.

Kuroko had always found it beautiful.

The balcony in the back of the apartment was tiny and cramped. The tiles were perpetually slippery no matter how hard he scrubbed. It was more window than balcony, to be perfectly honest—for as long as he had known the window had been stuck. Yes, it was a balcony in the sense that it jutted outwards towards the street, but it also never truly opened up to let the cold and the wet and the sun in. An illusion.

 _This is not a weakness; this is an advantage._

It was summer, now, and basketball was in full season. Ever since his admittedly confusing conversation with Akashi Kuroko had been thoughtful. Quiet. Pondering.

Lack of presence could be turned into a weapon.

For most of his life he had been decidedly ignored. Intentions were never malicious, just ignorant. Humans had always relied on sight the most.

For most of his life, he had been flexible. If no one noticed him, then he could be anything he wanted. Anything, anything…but. But with Ogiwara he was a basketball player. And that was enough. He was water but he had found his mold. Now he had to flesh himself out further…

The slam of the door jolted him out of his reverie. Angry stomping followed. "Goddamnit, _goddamnit_ , that no-good, lying snake, out to kill me…"

Kuroko's eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned his forehead against the window. The humidity made him stick uncomfortably to the glass, but he welcomed the cold. No one noticed him, not even at home. His mother continued to colorfully swear out his father until another door, her bedroom door, slammed shut.

For the millionth time, he wondered about the science behind his invisibility. His mother's cruel demeanor and his father's apparent apathy proved they were both glaringly conspicuous, and that the phenomenon, if Kuroko could call it that, was not genetic. Perhaps it was just his personality. Perhaps it was Mother Nature damning him to a life worse than normality, where he was not only average but expendable, unnoticeable. Did he matter, in the grand scheme of things? Enough?

He shook his head, and the coolness that spread to his cheeks felt good on his skin. This depressive state didn't suit him. He had resolve. He had persistence. He had the fairy tale pipe dream to belong somewhere. He had Ogiwara.

Speaking of. Kuroko hadn't seen him since _forever_. More like last week, but still.

His phone was an old, clunky thing, but it worked fine. His father, in a rare show of pride, had bought it for his son upon receiving the acceptance letter from Teiko. In it was one number only.

He brought it to his ear. As the dial rang, he examined the faint, shimmery reflection of himself from the glass. If Kuroko squinted it looked like he was floating in the air, five stories high, among the rain and the thunder and the clouds. A real ghost. His hair blended in with the dull gray perfectly and he had trouble differentiating his pupils from the trees.

Kuroko hummed and tapped the window idly. Perfect weather for basketball.

Click. _"Oh, Kuroko? How have you been! Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"_

"Ogiwara-kun. Sorry for any intrusion. But yes, I was wondering if we could play some basketball…"

" _Ten minutes, tops! Loser has to buy us both a drink!_ "

"I was here the whole time," Kuroko protested fifteen minutes later, but Ogiwara didn't let up.

He wiped a stray piece of rice from his cheek. "Face it, Kuroko, you owe me a drink! You just don't want to shell out a few yen."

"True," Kuroko conceded. Ogiwara cackled.

"Whatever! Let's play!"

The ground was slick with rain and grime, and sometimes the wind blew a torrent of rain in their direction. What a sight they must have been, Kuroko thought, two skinny boys dressed in only shirts and shorts, duking it out and almost asking to trip and fall down. They both did, several times, and by the time the rain finally let up their knees were skinned and dirty and Kuroko was half-worried about infection.

Ogiwara couldn't stop laughing, and against his will, Kuroko couldn't either. "Oh, man, I needed that!"

"No, Ogiwara needs his ego to be taken down a few sizes."

"It already has! Seems like the basketball club is paying off, eh? You've been improving."

Kuroko accepted the compliment with a brilliant smile, and the rest of their walk to the convenience store passed by in sweet silence.

"Nah, it's fine, I'll pay," Ogiwara said, batting Kuroko's hand away. "I said I'll pay."

"Just this once," Kuroko insisted. "I'll pay next time."

He didn't miss the downwards twitch Ogiwara's mouth, nor did he miss the forced tone in his next words: "Oh, of course."

Ogiwara chose a brightly-colored energy drink, the one that had recently been sponsored by famous basketball players on TV, and Kuroko chose something that tasted like his teeth would blacken from rot tonight. Vanilla-flavored soda. He loved it already. He could sense the charged mood, bolstered by the tense set in Ogiwara's shoulders, and chanced a look at his face.

"Ogiwara, are you alright?"

Dark eyes that had grown used to crinkling up in smiles looked awkward and out of place and _wrong_ so serious. Ogiwara looked to be struggling with something, so Kuroko gave him time. "I'm moving," he said finally, "I'll be leaving. Far away. A few hours away by train, I think, this time."

Kuroko inclined his head to the side. His drink suddenly didn't taste sweet enough. "When?"

"Two weeks."

The news wasn't that surprising. Kuroko could glean from their previous conversations that Ogiwara's dad didn't have the stablest of jobs. Instead, he went back and forth across the country and was rarely home. Already, at the end of sixth grade, Ogiwara's family had moved to the opposite end of Tokyo, which made it difficult to meet up. It was just a matter of time.

That didn't make it any less heartbreaking. With him gone, Kuroko knew he would be lonely.

"I won't have the time to play anymore, here, but don't think this makes anything different! I'll be going to Meikō. Teiko and Meiko are on opposite sides of the bracket, so I'll see you at the finals. Our promise still stands. Let's play against each other!"

Kuroko smiled. "Yes, let's."

Tension resolved, Ogiwara struck up another conversation like nothing ever happened. "Hey, Kuroko, did you know? A classmate of mine has been practicing magic and those slight-of-hand sorts of tricks. I bought him lunch once to ask him what his secret once, like how does he bring people's attention away from his hands, and you know what he said? One word! Just one! Misdirection. Seriously, what kind of answer is that? What a scam…"

 _Misdirection._ Kuroko turned the word over and over again in his head. He should have felt sorry for not paying attention to Ogiwara after that, but he couldn't help it. Misdirection. He filed it away into the back of his mind, planning on researching at home. But for now?

For now, he would enjoy what time he had left with Ogiwara. "I'll miss you," Kuroko said, once they arrived at Ogiwara's bus stop which would take him far, far away. He meant it, too. He'd miss the comfort and the encouragement and the laughs and the jokes and the jabs and the basketball games every few weeks. There was something special about a first friend, a sense of belonging, a chunk of your personality that was theirs for the taking.

Kuroko knew he was getting horribly sentimental, and Ogiwara told him so. "I can still send you letters, and text you, and call you, it's no problem," he reminded Kuroko. "It'll be almost like I never left."

Almost. The sweetness had long turned sour in Kuroko's mouth, and he tried to swallow it down. "Of course," he said, but Ogiwara already knew. He smiled, though Kuroko thought it was a touch sad.

"Don't worry. Make lots of friends at your school, okay? But don't forget me!" The bus arrived, and Ogiwara waited until the last possible second to board. He waved and sprinted on, seconds before the doors slammed shut in finality.

 _I'll never_ , Kuroko mouthed at Ogiwara's faced pressed into the glass. Ogiwara flashed him a grin and a thumbs up, and Kuroko stood at the station until rain started trickling down again, slower this time.

It was beautiful, hauntingly so.

The walk back was freezing. Kuroko dumped what was left of his drink into the closest garbage can he could find. Everywhere was glass and metal and glaring neon signs and a never-ending crowd of people that pushed and pushed and pushed against the trap of solidarity. Embraced the life of dissatisfaction. Kuroko felt no different. The metal of the apartment door felt cool against his thumbs, and turned with an almighty shriek. The stairs, too, were dull.

Every evening without fail Kuroko would come home to what he imagined the sound of pure fury was like, and today was no different.

"Don't you care," his mother shouted, slamming her hands on the table. The red high on her cheeks matched with her bangs, which were sticky with sweat and shone dark crimson in the dim evening light. No one had bothered to turn the lights on.

It was just as well. Kuroko had long mastered the art of blending in with the walls seamlessly and he floated past his parents in the living room like a living ghost. Silently, he glided down the hallway into his room and shut the door.

The walls bled, however. "Stop trying to create issues, woman, the doctor said it was only a possibility."

"I'm dying," his mother screamed, "I'm _dying!_ Don't you care?"

"No, no I don't."

His mother let out a shriek of rage—"out, out, _out!_ "—and then silence. Blessed silence.

Bitter, too.

In the place of his lungs was a gaping maw that howled in greed. A mess. Where did it go wrong, where did it go wrong.

Already, he missed Ogiwara. His fingers itched for his basketball, for his phone. Ogiwara knew his situation, would know what to say. The lack of traditional familial affection in this household was something that made Kuroko a little ashamed, but in fifth grade when they had been stranded outside in a storm they had traded secrets under the starry night sky and a convenience store roof.

But Ogiwara was leaving, _left,_ and Kuroko feared he had no support to cling to left. His mother either was a liar or was dying and his father didn't care and no one knew, no one _really_ knew Kuroko Tetsuya.

In the darkness of the bedroom, as he stared at the reflections the glimmering street light made against his window pane, Kuroko mouthed the word _misdirection_ over and over because it was his lifeline.

* * *

 **speedy updates make me :D**

 **even better though this didn't take a week it took like five days and it sat there bc i told myself to write more before i published but lmaoosdf no**

 **the clichéd angst makes me wince in pain but i think i have a plan? it seemed to me like kuroko has some serious abandonment issues that are either inherent or like something happened before gom came in and messed him up. perhaps because of his low presence he had no choice but to be lonely and once he has friends he values them greatly, hence his vow to essentially save gom from themselves even though they treated him like trash at least they acknowledged him briefly wow kuroko is too good for this world this makes me sad**


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